Pieces Lost
by RyukyuHime
Summary: Zevran couldn't deny that the woman was very good, but he also couldn't deny that she wasn't his Warden. It wasn't the same; she just wasn't enough.


Pieces Lost

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><p>The delicious curves of the redheaded barmaid were truly a sight behold, particularly so when they were passionately writhing and shifting underneath his rhythmic movements. It was a refreshing difference compared to what he had available to him while he was busy battling the Blight. Humans were much better endowed and had much more skin to lavish than skinny underfed elven girls from the slums of Denerim.<p>

Much like how some might've described the late Grey Warden, known best to all as the Hero of Ferelden.

Many men would've leaped at the chance to be in Zevran's place at the moment. To say that the barmaid was incredibly attractive in all aspects pertaining to her womanly body would have been an understatement. Large sky-blue eyes, full plump lips, a small button nose- all soft features positioned delicately on a soft, heart shaped face. A true full package if not lacking a bit in intellectual department, but that was a minor detail to most.

"Give me more, luv," the barmaid panted heavily from underneath him, her nails digging into his toned, muscular back.

He obliged. "Whatever you want my dearest," growled the elf into her rounded ear, quickening his pace and intensity. He was rewarded with a sudden gasp, followed by a throaty moan which spurred his hips even further. The cheap bed supporting them creaked responsively in time as the sounds of the inn outside their closed doors faded away into another universe.

Zevran desperately roamed over her body to work it with his experienced hands, taking in her flushed, sweating skin, trying to fill himself with her shape. Her full, curvaceous shape, smooth and shaking underneath his tender touch. The whore was undeniably good; his worldly body couldn't resist that. But his mind also couldn't resist that everything about her felt so wrong.

Her hair wasn't red enough, like the blood crimson suns he had observed many times at dusk by Her side.

Her cries weren't passionate enough, dripping with complete devotion and unrivaled need.

Her lips weren't thin enough, holding back Her witty retorts and begrudging admissions towards him.

Her eyes weren't piercing enough, knowing and experienced, calculating yet compassionate.

Her face wasn't sharp enough, the severely cut shape of the bones of a raw and distinct elven face.

Her skin wasn't scarred enough, each mark telling a tale of what She had overcome to become who She was.

Her body wasn't harshly angular enough, the roughened results of a lifetime of hard living on the streets, fitting perfectly under his own body, perfectly in his own arms.

He felt out of place, like a puzzle piece being forcibly rammed into another, attempting to fit what never truly were meant to be fit together. It seemed okay, satisfactory even at first before one observed the pieces too closely.

Too full. Too endowed. Too soft.

She wasn't enough. She felt wrong.  
>It wasn't Her. It wasn't-<p>

"Kallian!" he gasped breathily following an explosion of warmth from his core, pulsating throughout his body and clouding his mind. His body shuddered and suddenly became rigid. Zevran's golden eyes widened at the realization of the slip of his tongue.

His puzzle piece was forever lost. Nobody that he would touch would ever fit quite like She did.

Slowly the elf lowered himself on the fulfilled barmaid's chest, energy leaving his body as he nestled his head on her soft, comforting bosom. Her heartbeat was soothing against his ears, its steady rhythm lulling him to let go. Their calm, ragged breaths gradually coalesced, creating a rhythm of their own.

Zevran closed his eyes into darkness and leisurely took in a deep breath of air. He could distantly smell the familiar scent of burning firewood, of hearty stew cooking, of the hard earth . Of lilacs. He could feel the crisp night air cooling Their bodies as They were lying on the thin roll, listening to the restless crickets singing their lullaby. He could hear Her whisper lightly into his ear once more.

No... As long he had his fragments of these pieces lost, he would be able to fit them back together again.

At least long enough for him to grasp once again at wistful breezes of the elusive wind that had already left him behind.


End file.
